


Scare Tactics

by lettalady



Series: Blips and Blurbs [33]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: Prompt fulfillment regarding a faux-pregnancy and Tom Hiddleston. (Didn't take it as far as the original request was aiming)
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/You
Series: Blips and Blurbs [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925065
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Scare Tactics

**I** t’s hard to say who started the prank war – Hiddleston, with his flair for mischievousness, or you. The installation of the B movie monster fathead, life-size and terrifying, in the coat closet had helped you to make up your mind. It ends, and soon.

But not before you give him a heart attack of equal measure.

Of course you hadn’t quite planned for things to go this far. Alright – in retrospect the choice of prank was horrid, but at the time it had seemed brilliant. It wasn’t all that hard to obtain a pregnancy test that indicated pregnancy and you’d intended on being there to see his reaction and then assure him that you weren’t, in fact, pregnant.

In your head you’d assure him that it was just the two of you, still, and that it was retribution for the damned monster fathead.

Of course in your head he actually arrived home on time and the pair of you would call a truce.

No more prank war.

Instead what happened was that you’d grown bored, then hungry. Instead of sitting in wait for your cheerful prankster to come home you’d gone out to grab take away – getting a text from him just as you placed the order:

<< _On the way home. Sorry for running late!!_ >>

Upon your return, half an hour later bearing steaming food, the place is empty. Headed home he said? Stuck in traffic or held up by one last set of questions, one last prompt to attempt. But no matter – that will give you time to get set up again – if you can figure out where it was that you set down the faux-positive pregnancy test.

You pop a few of the dumpling appetizers into your mouth as you search out the stupid prank device. You’d played around with the idea of emerging from the bedroom carrying it – then decided to have it held gingerly within a tissue. Again, a decision that made sense at the time. In searching a white tissue out amongst a sea of white things…

You spot the tissue on the floor in the bathroom. Surely not where you left it. The pregnancy test is resting on the counter. Perhaps, then, the tissue wasn’t secured around the thing and fell after you put it down? At any rate – you need to have it somewhere nearby. Would you carry it on your person? Well, not while eating but having it close at hand seems appropriate. New plan in place you head back to the cooling meal.

A few minutes pass. Ten. Twenty. A quarter on an hour. Where is Tom?

Annoyed, you pop off a text to him: >> _I’m eating. Food needing to be microwaved now. See you when you get home, whenever that might be. <<_

You eat, alone, and contemplate if you should up the ante regarding the prank for this delayed arrival. No. It isn’t as though you’re always punctual. Maybe you should just move the damned fathead into the bathroom – hide it in the shower to scare him when he’s up for one of his early morning wakeup calls. Making up your mind to do just that you toss the remnants of your meal and the faux test into the trash. Only then do you hear the approach of footsteps and rustle at the door to indicate Tom’s much delayed arrival.

He’s mid-conversation, mobile pressed to his ear, when he walks in the door. He’s trying his best to end the call. “Yes. Yes! Ok. Ok. Ok. I’m home. I need to go now. Yes. Of course, yes. Yes!” Two seconds of exposure after he flashes a toothy grin at you and you start to feel your annoyance with him falter. He’s fiercely devoted to his work – but also fiercely devoted to you. He’d probably gotten stuck in traffic. “Sorry darling I meant to be back sooner but…” He pauses, shucking himself out of his lightweight puffy black jacket, “Well – there were things to take care of. Want some of mine after I heat it up?”

Oh boy. He’s hyper from the day. You trail along behind him as he beelines for the kitchen and his food. “Noo… I had a plate all my own. Stuffed, actually.”

“Sure? I don’t mind sharing.” He’s still muttering as he scoops the take away container up off the counter, holds if for a second to judge the temperature and then turns towards the microwave. “Used to it actually…”

What was that? Your partially voiced request for him to explain the comment is drowned out by the shutting of the microwave door, combined with his ringtone alerting the pair of you to an incoming call. Tom glances at the display briefly before silencing the ring, laughing under his breath, “Give us a mo… Only just walked in the door again.”

“Tom. Again?”

The microwave is whirring away behind his head – the take away container spinning slowly as his food is reheated. He nods, the dopey smile not falling from his face. “We must’ve just missed each other when you went out for food. Sorry if I messed up a um… celebration?”

A celebration. He’s been home. The tissue, fallen from the countertop where it had hidden the faux-pregnancy test.

“Is there anything you want to, I dunno, tell me?”

He knows. Well – he _thinks_ he knows.

Your head is spinning. This isn’t how he is supposed to react. You’re not the one who is supposed to find herself lightheaded – _he_ is. He’s so enthusiastic. This is going to backfire in a huge way. You reach out to the kitchen chair beside you and take a breath, “Ok. We need to sit down.”

“I wasn’t snooping around. Promise. But…” Your request finally registers in his brain and he nods, “Yes! Oh. Ok. Yes. I should’ve suggested that. Are you alright? Do you need anything? Water? Tea? Well… caffeine…”

Four words need to be said right away to stop this madness. “Tom. I’m not pregnant.”

His mouth hangs agape, the chatter finally stalled for a few blessed moments of silence. He’s going to start yelling right about….

“What?” He shakes his head, the motion of his jaw swinging side to side reminding you of a puppy roughly playing with a chew toy. “No. What? But the test in the bathroom?” Confusion is overwhelming the goofy smile that had been plastered on his face since walking in the door.

As much as it hurts to watch the pain of the news wash over him, you can’t look away as you softly reply, “A prank. Retribution for the monster in the closet. You scared me half to death. I just wanted to give you a little shock in return.”

“Retribution for…”

The microwave bings – the only sound that cuts through the silence that follows. He was so excited! The initial confusion has given way to a blank dumbfounded expression that is quickly killing you. This is it, it is a not so swift death for you.

Finally, the fifth time the microwave beeps at the pair of you, he blinks, and speaks. “But… I told Mum.” 

It’s your turn to stare dumbfounded at him. Then you put your face in your hands, trying to wipe away the ill feeling. “Oh GOD Tom, why would you… without talking to me first. Oh God.” Hiding behind your hands isn’t cutting it. You pitch yourself forward to rest the backs of your hands on the table, pressing your face into your palms.

“I was excited!”

“You’re always excited.” You mutter at the table, miserable. Now you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for his confusion and disappointment to lead into anger. By the count of the microwave’s beeps it’s been about five minutes since the truth came out.

“How was I supposed to know it was a plant?!”

Is he laughing? He IS! He’s laughing at you, at the whole situation. You right yourself in your chair to glare at him. “Oh for the love of … Don’t laugh! This isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Damn it, Tom. This is all your fault. Nearly made me piss myself with that stupid monster cut out and now … your mother is going to _hate_ me.”

Tom shrugs, “She doesn’t have to know.”

“Tom, I think she’ll figure out something is amiss in a few months when I’m not visibly pregnant…”

He smiles, that mischievous twinkle back in his eyes, “Well – if you’re interested – we could always make it true.”

He may be grinning again, but he’s serious. Are you ready for that? Are either of you ready for that sort of responsibility? You were engaged in a prank war for goodness’ sake. But the thought of a little being or two running about – seeing Tom as a doting father – your heart blips about within your chest at an uneven pace. “Is that what you want? I mean, now? I can always call and apologize. Explain everything to her… I’m sure I can survive her death glares for as long as they last.”

“With you? I want an entire brood.”

He waits to see you smile back at him before getting up to finally silence the chirping microwave. His food is still warm enough to suit, apparently. You watch him move about the kitchen, finding utensils and something to drink to go with his meal. His response shouldn’t have been all that surprising to you – the pair of you had talked about having children, but it had always been passing comments or something that you’d attributed to happening in a few years’ time.

He’s taken all of three bites when he’s up and out of his chair again. “Tom?” You laugh. This man. Can’t sit still to save his life.

He points to the monster fathead, peeking out at the pair of you from behind the open kitchen door. “It’s either going in the trash or being saved as a family heirloom.”

“Trash!” Oop that came out a bit quick. He chuckles as you repeat yourself at a steadier level, “Trash. Definitely trash.”

Taking the monster by the shoulders Tom glances between the gory thing and you, “What? The grandkids would probably love to see the thing, don’t you think?” 


End file.
